


Lend me some sugar, I am your neighbor

by bemusedbicycle



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-12
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-19 02:59:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1452940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bemusedbicycle/pseuds/bemusedbicycle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Childhood friends Emma and Killian reconnect later in life when they discover they live next door to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The rhythmic tapping against the wall of her bedroom grows in intensity, becoming louder, faster – the wall practically shaking as something (or _someone_ ) hits against the opposite side repeatedly. A low, guttural moan drifts through the thin barrier and she scowls, picking up one of the books neatly stacked by her feet and hurling it against the wall. There is a brief pause as the book makes contact with a loud thud, and then the banging (she snorts) continues. The moans increase in both frequency and volume and she rolls her eyes to the ceiling, praying to some unknown deity for patience to endure her ridiculous neighbor.

She hasn’t had the _pleasure_ of meeting him in her two months at her new apartment, but she’s certainly become _intimately_ aware of his extracurricular activities.

Like how he is apparently fucking his way through the entire female population of Brooklyn.

Luckily he manages to wrap things up fairly quickly (she snorts again when she thinks of _wrapping it up_ and hopes to god for his sake that he does indeed use protection and _what the fuck, why is she thinking that_ ) – a peaceful silence descending over her apartment. She sighs and turns back to the law book propped open in her lap and starts to read.  

Until music comes drifting through the wall – some 80’s power ballad causing her to jump in her chair. He plays music a lot, but it’s usually at a decent level and something _tolerable_. She slams her book shut with a muttered curse and she’s halfway across her tiny, _tiny_ apartment in five long strides, wrenching open her door and stomping over to his. She bangs on it with a closed fist and crosses her arms over her chest as she waits, foot tapping impatiently.

The door swings open a second later, a woman with wild hair and mussed makeup giving her a dirty look. She’s clothed only in a large men’s shirt, bare legs peeking out, and if looks could kill – well, Emma would be dust. She pushes past the woman and storms into the apartment (a mirror replica of her own, down to the fake wood cabinets that line the kitchen), practically kicking in the bedroom door.

Whatever she was going to say dies on her lips as she takes him in, lying casually in his bed, arms propped behind his head, sheets pooled low around his hips – exposing just how very _naked_ he is. Her eyes trace the strong v of his hips before dancing along his abdomen – all tan skin and chest hair and _jesus fucking christ, this was a terrible idea_. The 80’s music blares around them ( _INXS, really?_ ) and she blushes and fidgets as her eyes finally land on his face.

She freezes.

He looks surprised, familiar blue eyes widening in shock and then recognition. The smile that curls his lips is downright _sinful_ and nothing like the bashful boy she knew in middle school. He sits up slightly on his elbows, sheets slipping lower with the movement and – _nope -_ she keeps her eyes steadfast on his face. His blue eyes twinkle.

“Emma Swan.” He says quietly and his voice is deeper, more gravelly. And _jesus_ , puberty was good to him because he looks drastically different than he did back then - his thick glasses exchanged for contacts, acne traded for wild scruff that lines his strong jaw.

She smiles slightly because she can’t help it, never could with him. He was her first _real_ friend – the two of them thick as thieves, outcasts together.

“Killian Jones.” She replies and he grins, wide and blinding. They stare at each other in silence and the sinking realization that the man banging women on an almost daily basis with ferocious determination is actually her best friend from childhood causes an almost hysterical laugh to bubble in her throat. His eyebrows knit together as he sits up fully, scratching at the back of his messy black hair. It sticks up in every direction ( _like it always used to_ , but she pushes away that thought) and she feels her earlier hostility ebb back in slowly.

“Uh, not that I’m not pleased to see you, love.” He gives her another small smile. “But what are you doing in my apartment?”

She frowns, anger rising in her at his complete lack of decency (old friend or not), intending to let him have it when a voice behind her stops her pre-diatribe.

“Good question.” The snarky woman with makeup induced raccoon eyes slithers (because that’s the only word to describe the way she’s moving, _really_ ) back in the room and Killian visibly jumps at her presence. Emma fights the very strong urge to roll her eyes because it’s now clear he thought she left and if her two months living next to him has taught her anything, it’s that the man does enjoy sleeping around.

It’s odd – imagining the soft and quiet boy from her childhood as this pig-headed man-whore.

Emma opens her mouth to _finally_ tell him off for the amount of noise he creates on daily basis while she tries to study for exams, but he beats her to the punch.

“Ex-girlfriend.” He says quickly. Blue eyes slant towards her and she recognizes the pleading look on his face. If possible, the anger doubles inside her.

He’s trying to get the scary girl with the scary eyes out of his apartment, and he’s trying to use her to do it. She grits her teeth and clenches her fists. “You wish.”

He chuckles and collapses back to the bed. “Well if you’re just here for a romp, darling, by all means –“ He gestures to his body with a lazy twist of his hand and she bites the inside of her cheek until it bleeds in an effort not to scream. This seems to be the breaking point for their companion because she lets out an indignant huff, wrenching on her pants underneath the shirt and pushing past Emma to the door. Emma stares at him for a long moment as the door slams shut behind her, urging her rage to simmer back down from cataclysmic apocalypse levels.

She raises a finger in what she hopes is a menacing gesture. “I live next door. I’d appreciate it if you lowered the noise to a dull roar.” He gives her a blank look, taking in the information. She plants her hands on her hips and arches an eyebrow.

“You owe me.” His grin spreads and he runs his tongue along his teeth. His eyebrow hops up in a look she certainly _does not_ remember and her stomach clenches.

He opens his mouth to respond and she just _knows_ it’s going to be something inappropriate so she turns and flees before he has the opportunity. His loud laugh follows her back to her apartment and it reminds her of sweet summer days spent under trees, thick dark glasses sliding down noses, and butterflies in her stomach.

Luckily the music drastically drops in volume and she picks up her book, falling back in her chair. But it’s impossible to concentrate and she has to get ready for work before she knows it – not a single word of complex law theory sticking in her mind.

-/-

The knock on the window of her small living room makes her jump and she almost drops her bowl of mac and cheese to the kitchen floor. She peers over the counter to the window, half wielding her fork like a weapon because she _does_ live in Brooklyn and the fire escape _does_ go all the way to the street and people _are_ weird –

It isn’t a lunatic -  just Killian. But he is grinning at her like a madman through her window, six pack of beer held loosely in his hand. He swings it across the window with wide eyes as she walks hesitantly across the apartment, opening the old, rickety thing with the hand not holding her precious mac.

“What’s up?” He’s stretched out across the fire escape like he belongs there and gestures for her to join him. He rolls his eyes when she doesn’t immediately climb out the window, snatching the bowl from her hands and sliding along the escape so there’s enough room for her.

“Come now, love. Let me apologize like a _good neighbor_.” His face settles from obnoxious leer to soft smile and she immediately sees his younger self. “Plus, I do believe we have some catching up to do.”

She contemplates it for a second before climbing out after him, plopping down and reaching for her dinner. He hands it back to her with a bow of his head and she snorts. He grins at the sound and passes her a beer, settling back against the brick wall and staring out over the city. She shifts next to him and shoves some noodles in her mouth because this is _weird_ – it’s like an actual flashback to her past, a past she doesn’t necessarily _want_ to remember – and he’s been here the _whole_ time, just next door.

_Having a lot of sex_ her brain whispers. She ignores it.

“Do you often climb out on the fire escape?”

He chuckles. “No. In fact, I think I gave the old woman on the other side of me quite a fright when I started banging on _her_ window.” He shrugs. “Wasn’t sure which direction you went.”

She hums under her breath and pops another forkful in her mouth. “So –“ She begins awkwardly and brings her knees against her chest, balancing her beer between them. “What have you been up to since you were sixteen?”

He laughs and it dispels a bit of the tension between them. “Well, you know, the usual.” He tilts his head back and forth. “Growing up, getting contacts.” He grins at her over his beer, turning and meeting her gaze. His eyes are still the same impossible blue and her stomach flips. She pokes at her noodles. “I go to medical school in the city.”

She blinks at him in surprise and her smile is wide. She punches him in the shoulder lightly. “I told you! I always knew you were a freaking genius when it came to science.”

He rolls his eyes at her but a light blush climbs his cheeks. He ducks his head and scratches behind his ear. “Aye, I certainly spent enough time in the lab – when I wasn’t getting beat up.” He takes a long pull from his beer, fiddling with the cap in his left hand. “What about you?”

“Oh. Uh, I go to law school.” He gives her an appreciative nod and she returns his blush, picking at the label of her beer bottle. They sit in silence, the noise from the street below drifting over them.

“Where did you go?” He asks quietly and she knows what he’s asking without him having to be specific. It’s been looming over them since she first saw him sprawled out in bed and her stomach drops as she thinks back to foster homes and lonely nights.

“They put me in a new foster home.” She responds and her voice is scratchy. She’s annoyed with herself because it was a long time ago and it shouldn’t cause her throat to tighten or heart to stutter anymore. “They were waiting when I got home from school, I had to leave immediately. I tried –“

She swallows when she meets his gaze because he’s staring at her – open and honest and a little broken and she remembers how it felt to have to leave him. The only person who ever understood her - who ever _cared_ about her – and they made her leave him.  She remembers the way she cried in the back of the car – how she had begged to stay.

“I tried to write you.” She whispers. He looks shocked at that and she gives him a little smile. “Couldn’t remember your address and they didn’t give me a computer at my new home.”

They didn’t give her a lot of things, but she doesn’t dwell on it. He sighs heavily and leans back fully against the wall. He tilts his head and looks at her, a secret smile tugging at his lips.

“Interesting, isn’t it, love?” He nudges her with his knee. “How we managed to find one another again?”

She doesn’t believe in fate or anything like it so she rolls her eyes, shoveling mac in her mouth with renewed vengeance. “Interesting, indeed.”

-/-

They fall back into their friendship easily – the years lost between them made up for in leftover Chinese shared on fire escapes and fresh baked cookies plopped in front of his door. He’s funny – still the big dweeb she remembers him to be – and she finds herself sinking into the comfort of _them_. It’s been a long time since she’s let anyone in and it feels nice to have a friend.

_A friend with insanely beautiful blue eyes and permanent sex hair and a smile that makes her feel things she definitely shouldn’t be feeling about a friend_.

She ignores her thoughts – pushing them away to the back of her mind because he’s made it clear how great of a _friend_ she is, how much he values their _friendship_. He’s never made a move for _more_ and she’s just grateful to have him back – the boy who stood by her when she was young.

_Even if he very clearly hasn’t had anyone over in months and she sometimes catches him staring at her with a serious expression, his fingers grazing the back of her arm._

Enough. She can’t.

She’s just coming home from a late shift at the bar and all she wants to do is sink into bed and sleep for days. Tomorrow is Saturday – a rare day off – and she intends to sleep well into the afternoon. She slips off her shoes and crashes fast first into bed, not even bothering taking off the tight, low cut tank top. She’s half asleep already when there’s a low tap against the wall above her bed. She turns in the sheets and peers at the wall when it sounds again – a light knocking against the space where her head usually lies.

Her phone lights up. She reaches out for it and smiles when she sees it’s a text from him.

_You home?_

She taps back against the wall with her finger. Her phone buzzes again.

_Good._

She falls asleep smiling.

-/-

“What do you feel like tonight?” Both of their windows are open and he’s shouting from his living room to hers – his lilting voice happy and she can tell he’s smiling. She taps her fingers against her lips as she contemplates her choices, stirring the large pot on the stove.

“How about some Ella?” She shouts back and he groans, long and loud. She chuckles because he likes to pretend he hates the classics, but if he did he wouldn’t own it in the first place.

Ella Fitzgerald comes drifting through the wall moments later and she smiles, humming under her breath.

-/-

She sighs heavily on her bed, rubbing her temples as she closes her eyes. She cancelled on her night shift at the bar, too much studying to get in before her next exam. She flops on her back just as she hears heavy footsteps from next door, the opening of his bedroom door through the thin wall alerting her that he’s home. She hears him drop his bag to the ground with a loud thud and collapse in his own bed – headboard knocking into the wall against hers. He’s quiet and she’s just about to tap on the wall when she hears it – a low moan.

Her eyebrows furrow as she shuffles closer to the wall, practically putting her ear up against it. Is he _hurt_? Did something happen?

She hears him mumble the word _fuck_ – sounding like it’s underwater through the wall – and then the unmistakable sound of a zipper lowering.

Oh.

_Oh_.

Hot heat flashes through her, dropping her stomach and settling between her thighs. She listens as he pants and groans through the wall and its wrong – _jesus, it’s so wrong_ – but she can’t help it when her own hand slides across her stomach. Her fingers hesitate at the band of her underwear and she shouldn’t do this, she really shouldn’t, but _god_ , it’s been so long and it’s not because it’s _him_ –

She slides her fingers into her underwear, sucking in a breath through her teeth when she grazes sensitive skin. She rubs herself in small, circular movements – cheeks flaming red when she feels how wet she is – falling back into her pillows as he lets out another groan.

She closes her eyes and imagines lips on her neck, strong arms around her waist. His headboard begins a soft rhythm against the wall, tapping against it lightly and she lets her fingers follow the same pattern. She presses hard against her clit, picking up the pace as he does, letting his moans coil her stomach tighter and tighter.

She imagines scruff against her chest, dark hair between her thighs. She pushes up and into herself with two fingers and her back arches, the heat burning hotter. She bites her lip hard when he lets out a string of unintelligible curses, hips thrusting hard into her hand. She’s so close, god she’s so close, she just needs –

Her other hand gropes her breast and she imagines blue eyes as his teeth close over her, shining above her as his hips piston against hers, crooked grin stretched wide over –

She comes suddenly, rutting her hips against her hand, riding out the wave of pleasure that washes over her. There’s a low buzzing in her ears and she has never come that hard in her life, not ever.

Her chest heaves as she stares at the ceiling with wide eyes. Her phone vibrates next to her hip and she picks it up with a shaking hand. It’s from him and he’s asking her if she wants to go grab pizza after her shift at the bar. He will be up late studying, and could use the break.

_He doesn’t know you’re home, idiot_.

She carefully slides from her bed to the floor without making a sound, tiptoeing to her front door like a goddamned Disney villain about to stab Mickey Mouse. She opens and closes it with a loud slam – hoping to God he doesn’t realize she’s been here the whole time.

She is so fucked.


	2. Chapter 2

Her thoughts are a jumbled mess as she bites on her thumbnail, her glasses sliding further down her nose and her messy hair tumbling around her face in wild and unrestrained curls. She grabs at it with a huff, pulling it up in a loose bun before picking up her book again. She taps against it with a highlighter, not comprehending a single word.

Ever since _the incident_ (as she has dubbed it in her mind - like a ridiculous child), she’s been unable to concentrate. Thoughts of _him_ float unbidden through her mind on an almost constant loop, making her jumpy and awkward. He’s given her several curious glances over the past couple days but she’s helpless to stop it – her emotions turning her into a crazed lunatic.

She just needs to turn it off – just needs to stop _feeling_ all these things.

 

 _And she needs to stop imagining him when she touches herself_.

She needs to sleep with someone. That’s it – she just needs a good fuck. She is tense from school and work and she just needs someone to bend her over, yank her panties down and –

The image of Killian doing just that against the island that sits in the middle of her kitchen flashes behind her closed eyes and she groans, dropping her head forward into her hands. She stands quickly, moving towards the kitchen to get a glass of water, and because she is a moron – she immediately trips over her backpack.

She lets out a loud shriek and tries to brace her fall on the coffee table, but because the world is now conspiring against her, her arm goes right through the thick glass. She inhales sharply through her nose as pain lances through her arm, the jagged edges of broken glass digging into skin.

“Fuck.” She whispers. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

She tries to pull her arm out but the glass cuts deeper and she whimpers under her breath. Her phone flew across the room with her fall and tears prick behind her eyes as she realizes just how _stupid_ she’s being.

She’s got no other choice so she bites her lip and heaves a sigh. “Killian!”

She looks down at her arm and sees blood, running thick and slow in narrow lines. She swallows hard and tries again. “Killian!”

She hears his heavy footsteps against the hardwood floor and the slide of his window as he climbs out on the fire escape. She fights to control her breathing, focusing on her window instead of the pain thrumming through her in short, hot bursts.

“No need to yell like a bloody barbarian, Swan. You do have a –“

His words stop abruptly as he finally ducks through the window, eyes landing on her crumpled on the floor, arm pathetically stuck in the coffee table. His eyes grow wide and she sniffles, traitor tears falling from her eyes and landing on her cheeks.

 _Stupid_.

“I fell.” She says and she feels like a moron – arm stuck in a _table_ for _god’s sake_. He strides forward and drops to his knees in front of her, eyebrows furrowing, frown tilting his lips. He carefully wraps his fingers around her arm as he peers at it and she winces, body jolting against his touch.

“Easy, love.” He sighs, eyes big and worried as they meet hers. “Don’t want to drive the glass further.” He shoots her a tight grin, but it’s shaky and it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Luckily for you, you have a doctor for a neighbor.”

Her laugh sounds more like a sob as he pokes and prods at her arm, fingers gentle. “Almost doctor.” She rebukes.

He rolls his eyes and gives her a look. “Now is hardly the time for semantics, darling. I’m going to need to break the rest of this glass.”

He’s up and moving away from her in an instant, tearing through the drawers in her kitchen. He comes back with a meat cleaver ( _why_ does she have a meat cleaver, _why_ ) lightly tapping at the glass that has trapped her arm. It breaks away and she bites back another whimper, the pain in her arm intensifying.

He helps her pull it out and deposits her on the couch quickly, turning and practically sprinting back to the window. “Be right back!” He shouts over his shoulder as he climbs through, his lanky body moving with unfair grace. She blinks down at her legs, wounded arm clutched against her chest, bottom lip trembling as _stupid, stupid, stupid_ runs on loop in her head.

She can’t even _get a drink_ without fucking it up.

“Alright there, Swan?” She blinks down at him as he kneels at her feet – small white box by his side. She didn’t even hear him come back – her thoughts too muddled and dark to take notice of her surroundings.

He reaches for her arm and she lets him gently extend it, wincing as the jagged cuts stretch and bend with the movement. He examines it with furrowed eyebrows for a moment, tongue peeking out between his teeth and she sighs – lets her eyes trace the slope of his neck, his strong swallow as he shifts over her.

“I don’t think you’ll need stitches.” He says quietly and her cheeks flame. She absently wipes the back of her hand against her face – wiping away the tears. He peers up at her. “But I will need to clean it.”

His gaze lingers on her cheeks and the moisture that’s tracked there. His frown grows and she averts her eyes.

“Okay.” She whispers, staring hard at the thick grey rug that’s draped over the worn floors.

His thumb runs along the inside of her wrist and she gasps lightly as she feels it echo deep within her, stirring heat to life, and _damnit_ – she needs to shake this – this _whatever it is_ – her morbid obsession with her friend.

 _Her friend, damnit_.

He opens his kit and she smiles at how neat and orderly everything is – the kid who used to organize his binders with color coated sheet protectors and his locker with built in shelves still in there somewhere. He catches her grin and mirrors with one of his own, lips twisting crooked.

“Some things never do change, love.”

She tilts her head and finally relaxes as he sets about dabbing at her skin, cleaning away the blood with gentle pressure.

“Yeah.” She agrees and something clicks into place deep in her chest. She’s suddenly reminded of days spent laughing and smiling, hope and happiness and trust blossoming in her chest as she tucked herself into his side.

Her eyes soften and she bites her lip. “Some things never do.”   

Oh God, she _likes_ him.

 _She is so fucked_.

-/-

He’s studying on the couch across from her, fingers running a somewhat manic circuit through his hair, making it stick up every which way. Now that she’s realized _what_ she’s been feeling – it’s a hell of a lot easier to tuck away - deep in the corner of her chest.

Still – she isn’t immune to the sex hair.

He peers up at her from under thick lashes. “You’re staring again, lass.” He gives her a cheeky grin and she rolls her eyes, kicking him in the shin and turning her attention back to her book.

“You wish I was staring.” She mutters. He laughs and taps his pencil against her foot, squeezing her calf gently with his free hand.

“Whatever you say, love.”

-/-

“Swan!”

He practically kicks in her front door and she’s so shocked that he’s actually _using the damn thing_ that she momentarily forgets her predicament, dropping one of the loose curls she’s been toying with and tipping her head around the corner.

“Hey!” She shouts from the bedroom as she turns back to the mirror, peering over her shoulder at her reflection. She frowns – this dress is all wrong – far too tight for a first date. But it is a set-up from Ruby and she’s seen what the girl wears in a business casual sense so she shrugs and thinks this is probably church wear for what this guy is used to. She grabs a pair of earrings off the dresser and shuffles down the hallway as she hears the fridge open.

 _Idiot._ Always taking her beer.

Like clockwork she hears the fizz and pop of a cap being opened. “Exam went brilliant, Swan. The lads are going to the bar to celebrate. I was stopping by to see if you – “

He freezes as she rounds the corner, eyes growing comically wide as he takes in her appearance.

“Woah.” He mutters and he drops the bottle to his side, leaning against the counter with a wide grin. “That isn’t a very court appropriate outfit.”

He takes a gulp of his beer, eyes lingering on the soft pink material of the dress. “Did you want to change before the bar?”

Her stomach twists and she doesn’t know _why_ – maybe it’s the way he just assumes she will be there, or maybe it’s the way that she _does_ want to just ditch her date to go hang at the bar with Killian – but that’s exactly why she needs to go in the first place.

She needs to distance herself – _get a grip_.

“Actually, I have a date.” She notices the way his entire body stills, knuckles tightening on the neck of the bottle. She averts her gaze to look for her shoes because _shit_ , he’s supposed to be here in ten minutes.

“You have a date?”

She hops on one foot as she slides on one nude pump, using the counter for balance. “Yeah, Ruby set me up with some guy she knows.” She shrugs and turns her attention back to him, sliding on her other shoe. He’s looking at her with dark eyes, frown pulling at the corner of his lips.

He shakes his head and forces a smile and something in her gut twists. She shouldn’t feel guilty. They aren’t _anything_ – nothing more than friends, and neighbors, and –

 _Nothing_.

He chugs the rest of his (her) beer and tosses it in the trashcan. “Have a good time.” He nods his head, almost to himself, and gives her another ridiculous, tight smile. “You look lovely.”

The door slams loud behind him.

-/-

She stares up at the faded sign of the bar, twisting her hands in front of her. She should have known better – _really_ should have known better. The date was a disaster. Walsh was boring, and he couldn’t keep his eyes away from her tits, leering at her like some kind of _animal_ over the low candles that sat on their table. The restaurant was _not_ her cup of tea at all and she was uncomfortable – forcing conversation into something even remotely bearable.

When he slid his hand over her knee under the table, she called it a night – jolting up out of her seat and striding quickly towards the door.

It certainly had nothing to do with the way her mind kept wandering to blue eyes and jet black hair and the look he gave her right before the door slammed.

Nothing at all.

Maybe it was a sign – to stop fighting it and just give in. _It’s_ _Killian_ her mind whispers in a desperate plea and she clenches her fists. The fear of rejection rises like a stone wall in her heart and she shakes her head hard.

 _It’s just Killian_.

Loud laughter and music seeps through the door as a couple pushes their way out, arms wrapped tight around one another. Emma waves to the bouncer and slides her way in to the crowded bar. If nothing else, she could use a stiff drink.

She keeps her eyes peeled for the tall, British bastard – knowing he likes the tables at the back. She orders a drink and then stands on a stool, immediately regretting her decision to head straight to the bar instead of going home and changing first. The bartender slides her drink over with a wink and she rolls her eyes, gaze still searching.

She manages to wrangle the straw in her mouth the same moment she finds him – in the back like she suspected. But her heart plummets down, down, _down_ when she sees he’s not alone. In fact, he’s very much _engaged_ and it settles like a lead weight in the pit of her stomach.

A girl with long blonde hair is pressed up against his front, his hands settled low on her waist. His right hand slips lower as she watches, gripping the girl’s ass and hauling her hips into his. Their heads move in perfect synchronization and she doesn’t have to get any closer to realize they’re making out. She drops from her perch on the stool, foolish tears rising hot behind her eyes, throwing back her drink and turning back towards the door.

She was stupid for thinking she could –

She cuts off the thought and pushes out into the balmy night, for once grateful that her mind is blissfully silent. When she gets home, she angrily kicks off her shoes, grabbing her comforter off her bed with a jerky and rough movement and settling on the couch.

Her stomach churns as she presses her face into the worn cushions of the loveseat, and hopes to god the whirling sound of the ceiling fan drowns out any noises from his place. 

-/-

She avoids him like the plague – keeping long hours in the library and going straight to the bar after. Her chest feels too tight and her head _aches_ constantly but she pushes through – throws herself into her work to stop her mind from wandering. She passes out from exhaustion each night and soon deep circles form under her eyes. She frowns at herself in the mirror in her bedroom, prodding at the purple skin with her index finger.  She winces when Ella comes drifting through the wall. There’s a tap against the other side – quick and gentle like he’s rapping his knuckles – and she freezes, not daring to move.

“Come on, love. I know you’re home.” There’s another dull thud against the wall like he’s resting his head against it and she imagines him, just as weary as she is, dark hair falling over his face as he pushes against the thing that separates them (she snorts because she’s never been one for metaphors but that is downright poetic).

She inhales sharply and shakes her head. He doesn’t miss her. Why would he?

She crawls into bed and puts her pillow over her ears, clamping down hard to keep her hand from reaching out.

-/-

“You’re avoiding me.” He appears suddenly on the other side of her kitchen counter and she jumps, scattering the vegetables she was chopping to the floor. She gives him an exasperated look.

“Did you break into my apartment?”

He doesn’t respond, just arches a single eyebrow and it’s enough of an answer for her. She scowls and drops to the floor, scooping the fallen peppers in her hand.

“I wouldn’t of had to resort to such desperate measures had you not locked the bloody window. “ She drops her ruined vegetables in the trashcan, studiously avoiding his gaze. “Since when do you lock the window?”

She shrugs, feigning nonchalance, ignoring the dizziness swimming in her head. He’s too close – he will be able to _see_ –

“Brooklyn’s a weird place. I just want to be safe.”

He huffs angrily under his breath. “Why aren’t you being honest with me?”

She picks up her knife and begins chopping again. “I don’t know what you’re talking –“

“Look at me.” His voice hits her like a semi-truck, more serious than she’s ever heard him. She places her knife to the side with a sigh and lifts her gaze carefully to his. And damn it, his eyes are so _blue_. Wide and, _fuck_ , knowing and she just wants to crawl into a hole and die.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” He says quietly, but the anger is there – in the lines of his face and the clench of his jaw. And because she’s a moron she keeps on sailing down the smooth river of denial.

She rolls her eyes and moves around the counter, picking up her basket of laundry in what she hopes is a dismissive move. Unfortunately for her, he follows.

“I’ve been busy, Killian.”

She plops her laundry down on the couch and angrily takes out a towel, folding the corners end over end. He stills behind her.

“Is it him?” Whispered and raspy, his voice makes her pause. She stops and looks at him.

“Is it who?”

His tongue slides along his lip in a nervous gesture and, _alright_ , not fair. “Your date.” He winces with the word like it physically pains him to bring up and hope flairs lightly in her chest. But then she remembers him at the bar, hands sliding along some woman, his tongue probably pushing down her throat –

“No.” She turns back to her basket and rips out a towel. “I left early – haven’t seen him since.”

He opens his mouth to speak but she cuts him off, her thoughts rushing out of her before she can stop them. “I went to the bar to meet you after.” She immediately regrets it, the way his face blanches and his jaw drops open. She meets his eyes briefly before looking away. “I saw you.”

The silence is deafening, sounding like roar in her mind. She feels her cheeks flame hot and she has actually never been more stupid in her life – thinking whatever they were doing meant something, thinking that she could ever matter to anyone else.

Warm fingers closer around her elbow and a ragged sigh leaves her lips. “Emma.” He says and she tries not to let it affect her, but he never calls her by her first name, not unless he’s being entirely genuine and _this_ \- this is just too much.

“Why have you been avoiding me?”

She wrenches her arm away from his grip. “It isn’t important.” She abandons her laundry and makes to move around the couch – put some distance between them.

“No.” He grabs both her arms this time, turning her in his grip, her face inches from his. He’s serious and angry and _jesus_ – it shouldn’t affect her like this but her thighs clench and her stomach flips and he _smells so good_.

His forehead falls against hers and his nose nudges forward. His breath smells like rum and _warm_ and her eyes drift closed.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” He says again.

She whimpers and tightens her fists in the fabric of his shirt ( _when did she put her hands there?)_ , bunching it and bracing herself. She can’t, she can’t, _she can’t –_

“Emma.”

“Because I want you.” It comes tumbling out of her mouth, desperate and unbidden and she immediately tries to pull away. But he holds her steady, fingers tightening almost to the point of pain on her arms. She pushes against him harder, anger rising in her gut at her own stupidity, _again_.

“Because I have these stupid fucking feelings for you. Because you mean something to me, _fuck_ -“ She breathes out hard through her nose. “Because I want you and I can’t have –“

His lips come crashing down over her own, cutting off whatever she was going to say. First she thinks _thank god_ because she doesn’t know what kind of embarrassing things were going to come tumbling out next and her second thought is _oh god_ because he’s kissing her. He’s kissing her and pulling her against him – tighter and tighter – her hips colliding with his. His lips pull at hers, rough and raw and when his mouth opens on a muffled groan, tongue sliding against her lips – she ceases to think at all.

He pulls back quickly, blue eyes wild in the dim light of her apartment. Her chest is heaving and she can’t focus and _what is even going on_.

“You _stupid_ woman.” His lips fall against hers again and she’s helpless against him, falling further into him, moan caught in the back of her throat as their tongues slide against one another. He pulls back again. “I cannot even believe you.”

“What?” She feels like she’s floating and maybe this is a dream because she _hasn’t_ been sleeping and she _is_ exhausted and this just feels so good – too good, actually.

He gives her a look, blue eyes dark, shifting closer to her. His fingers slide over her shoulder and down her back and she shivers. “Emma, I’ll only say this once, so do pay attention.” His lips brush her cheekbone. “You and I have been in a serious, committed – “ he enunciates each word with a kiss against the hollow of her eye, the tip of her nose. “Relationship. For the past year. You’ve just been too stubborn to notice it.”

She arches an eyebrow and pushes back against his chest slightly. He smirks at her. “Oh, so people in serious relationships make out with blonde bimbos at the bar?”

He frowns and picks up the end of her curl, twisting it lightly around his pointer. “I thought you were with another man, love. I apologize for hurting you in the process.” His fingertips trace her collarbone. “I didn’t sleep with her.” He shrugs. “She wasn’t you.”

He says it simply, quietly, with an earnestness she hasn’t heard since he was a boy. He peers up at her through his lashes and she sees all of him – everything – the kind and gentle boy that sat with her under the trees when no one else would, the dedicated medical student who organizes his highlighters in the pencil cup by his desk, the cool and confident sex god that _knows_ his effect on women. She sees a man who _wants_ her and suddenly every single doubt she’s ever had evaporates into thin air.

She hauls him against her by the collar of his shirt, pushing up on her toes to slam her mouth into his. It’s rough and brutal and _everything_ as his fingers clench in her hair, tilting her head back sharply as he takes two strong steps forward. Her back presses up against the couch and his hands wrap around her hips, the space between them practically nothing. She shifts against him and he groans again, the sound going directly between her thighs. She pulls away with a sharp gasp as his lips trail down her neck, teeth closing over the juncture between shoulder and throat.

“Pants.” She urges and her fingers close over his belt. He swats her hands away with his, pushing them back to her sides. The backs of his fingers drift over her thighs.

“Oh no, love.” He leans back, blue eyes dark and she bites her lip against a whimper. “I’ve wanted you since I was sixteen. I think I’ll take my time.”

His words are a promise as his fingers slide along the inside of her thigh, drifting higher and higher with each casual swipe.

She swallows hard.

_She is so fucked._


	3. Chapter 3

He nudges at her neck with his nose, tilting her head back further with the hand twisted in her hair. He kisses her softly, teeth pressed against her in a wide grin.

“Do you know what a sixteen year old boy thinks about, Emma?” His teeth clamp down over her neck again and she moans lightly, fingers sliding up from his chest to his shoulders, holding onto him for support or leverage, she has no idea. All she knows is that she’s burning – burning and _throbbing_ – and she needs more.

“Hm? Do you?” His nose drifts up her neck to her ear. She has a feeling she knows where this is going but still – she needs to hear it, needs to hear that he’s wanted her as much as she’s wanted him.

 

He’s moving slow and lazy, fingers drifting over the button on her jeans, sliding around to cup her ass and haul her against him.

“Do you remember that blue dress you had, with the buttercups on it?” He pushes his hips against hers and she gasps, leaning back against the couch, spreading her legs slightly. His knee slides between her legs effortlessly and she swivels her hips, pressing down to relieve the fierce ache that’s building, building, _building_. He groans and lets his lips hover over hers, nose brushing her own in a sweet gesture.

“God, that dress. I had so many _indecent_ thoughts about that dress.” The fingers in her hair cup her head lightly, scratching at her scalp. “Every time you wore it I couldn’t take my eyes off your legs. I’m pretty sure that dress is the reason I failed history.”

She snorts and his eyes crinkle in amusement. She tilts her mouth into his and nips at his bottom lip, rolling it between her teeth. “You failed history because you hated Mr. Gold.”

He grinds his hips into hers with a low growl. “I failed history because you sat in front of me, and I could think of nothing else but bending you over the bloody desk and pressing myself into you.”

She gasps. “Why didn’t you?”

He laughs, low and deep, and it rumbles from his chest into hers. “Pretty sure that would have been bad form, love - taking you mid-exam in front of all the other students.” His lips linger at the corner of her mouth, each word drifting over her and branding into her skin. “Unless you’re into that sort of thing.”

“No, you idiot.” Her hand slides to his neck and she pulls his mouth to hers, losing herself in the easy way they just _fit_. He hums into her mouth and she sighs, her tongue sliding against his, lazy and slow. He tilts his head and opens his mouth wider, pushing against her with gentle insistence. She pulls back and he presses wet, open-mouthed kisses to her neck, both hands drifting down her sides to linger at her hips.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything to me?”

His hands slip lower, pulling at her legs and lifting her up on the back of the couch. She huffs in surprise even as her legs part and wrap around him, welcoming him closer. His chest brushes hers and her fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck, carding through his thick, black strands. He tilts his head and look down at her, self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips, fingers tracing idle patterns on the outside of her jeans.

“I didn’t – ah –“ He scratches behind his ear and ducks his head down slightly. “You were so beautiful, Emma.” The soft awe that laces his words makes her heart skip a beat, a different kind of warmth blossoming in her chest and spreading outwards. “You deserved more than a lovesick science nerd.”

He keeps his eyes on the fingers splayed over her leg, watching as they run a gentle circuit back and forth. “You still do.”

The warmth spreads further, humming through her and sparking something deep and dormant to life. She bites her lip against her grin and he blinks up at her from his ducked down position, his gaze hardening when he takes in the look on her face. Misunderstanding her, he abruptly tries to pull away. She yanks him back harshly with her legs wrapped around his waist and he stumbles into her.

“I won’t have you laughing – “

“Do you know what a woman thinks about, Killian?” He stills against her as she drags her fingers across the bare skin of his neck, dipping into the collar of his shirt and sliding over his collarbones. She tilts her head and focuses on the buttons of his shirt as she deftly undoes them with quiet, calm movements.

“When she lives next door to a man – a man who is kind and gentle and smart.” She finishes unbuttoning his shirt, the bare skin of his torso radiating heat directly into her.

She pushes the shirt off of his shoulders, sliding her nails lightly over his chest hair, dragging them down, down, _down_. He shivers. “A man who is devilishly handsome.“ She rolls her eyes at histurn of phrase and he snorts out a tense chuckle.

She presses her lips against the hollow of his throat. Her voice drops to something husky as her stomach clenches. “You say you thought of me in that dress. Well, I’ve thought about you in every single way possible. So I suggest we stop talking and start acting on some of those impulses, hm?”

He blinks once – twice – and then a wide grin pulls at his lips, eyes darkening in front of her. His hands slide under the hem of her shirt and she lifts her arms as he pulls it up and over her head. His chest heaves slightly as his gaze lingers on her bra, left hand cupping her breast lightly, running gently over the cup and the warm skin beneath. He slides his grip back to her hips, jolting her against him and picking her up in one smooth movement.

“I’m inclined to agree, darling.” He turns and begins walking them to her bedroom, nose pushing between her breasts. “But I think I’ll take you in the bedroom, if it’s of no matter to you.”

She twists her fingers through his hair, gently urging his mouth to her right breast. He follows obediently, tongue licking a rough stripe over her swell, teeth clamping over the material. She pants and arches.

“Okay.”

“Alright.” He drops her lightly to the bed with a bounce, her blonde curls falling around her. She spreads back against the sheets as he stands over her, spreading out with her arms as his tongue slides against his lips. She arches a brow as she leans up slightly, unclasping her bra and removing it – tossing it to the corner of the room. His eyes darken and he inhales sharply through his nose as his gaze lingers on her bare breasts – nipples tightening almost painfully under his perusal. Her fingers slide across her stomach and _jesus_ , she’s never been so brazen – never been this turned on – but she _needs_ something, anything – so she slides her hands higher, cups her breast gently in her hand.

He lets out a muffled noise at the foot of the bed, hands undoing his belt slowly, head tilting and watching the movement of her hand. Her thumb grazes her sensitive peak and she arches, biting her lip. The bed dips slightly as he pushes forward, nudging her legs apart and crawling between them. He hovers above her, watching as she rolls her nipple gently.

“I think I like you like this, Swan.” Rough fingers slide against the smooth skin of her stomach as his lips descend on her unattended breast, tongue laving against her. She pushes up hard into his mouth with a whimper and his hips fall in line with hers. The fire burns hotter, deeper and she abandons her chest for his shoulders, pulling him down and into her – seeking out the friction she so desperately craves.

He ruts lightly against her and dips his fingertips into the waistband of her pants.

“So wanton.” He nips his way across her chest to her opposite peak, sucking it roughly into his mouth with a wet pop. “So desperate.”

She growls impatiently when his fingertips graze the soft skin of her navel, pushing her hips up harder. “Do you always talk this much, Jones?”

He chuckles against her chest as she slides her hands down his bare back, bringing them around his front and focusing on the button of his jeans. She manages to wrangle it free and pull down his zipper.

“I told you I was going to take my time with you.”

“I’m not convinced.” She mutters. She shoves her hand into the front of his jeans and lets out a throaty groan when she finds him hot and heavy and hard. Her fingers close around him through his boxers and his head drops to her neck, broken and stuttered moan pushed into her throat.

“Emma-“ He whines and shifts his hips into her hand.

“Shh.” Her mouth nips at his ear and he tilts his face further into her neck, breath warm against her skin. “We can do slow later. Please, I just need you.”

He pulls back slightly, blue eyes serious as his hand cups her face. “Later?”

And he looks so desperate that she breaks, just the tiniest bit. How did she miss all of this? How did she not see his longing – so plain and open in his big blue eyes?

She nods with a small smile. “Later.”

She grins as his fingers pick up the pace on her own jeans, tugging them down with quick, jerky movements. Her panties go with the material and soon she is completely bare for him, the throbbing between her legs near unbearable. She releases him from her grip and parts her legs further, gasping when his fingers find her sensitive skin.

“God, you’re so wet.” His thumb brushes her clit and she would be embarrassed if she wasn’t so damn impatient. She said they can do slow later _damnit_ – right now she _needs_ him.

“Killian.” She pushes at his jeans and he gets the picture, chest heaving, eyes wild as he pulls back and tugs his pants off. He practically trips in his haste and she would laugh if she wasn’t _aching_ and throbbing and dying –

He climbs back on top of her, hovering, thick length pressed against her thigh. His fingers slide along her jaw and angle her head up, gazes meeting. His lips press lightly against hers and she whines at the softness of it – the gentle insistence – the unspoken words. Her heart pounds in her chest as he pushes forward slightly, pulling back to look in her eyes – to _watch_ her as he takes her in every sense of the word.

She arches her hips and pulls him in a bit more, the delicious drag already _everything_. She keeps her eyes on him and swivels her hips, loving the way his mouth drops open, the way his eyes darken further – the blue turning stormy in the moonlight that streams through the window. His fingers clamp down on the damp skin of her hip, pulling her down sharply, seating himself fully in her in a swift movement.

They groan in unison as he stretches and fills her. She yanks him down with a hand on the back of his neck.

“Move.” She growls and he grins, pushing himself up above her, hands planted firmly by her head. He pulls away and pushes back into her, making her see sparks, her breasts bouncing with the movement. He easily sets a quick pace, filling her up and pushing her higher with each push of his hips.

“Fuck.” He grunts above her and she arches, closing her eyes and giving herself over to the sensation of delicious pressure. She can feel it coiling in her stomach, pushing her higher, pulling her into the sweet, sweet abyss.

His hand slides under her, pulling her up as he quickly rolls them over. She settles above him with her hands on his chest and he thumbs at her nipple.

“I want to watch you.” He whispers and she moans, tossing her head back as she lifts and then drops back down. He’s deeper like this, hitting that spot within her that makes her shiver and groan. He thrusts up lightly with each swivel of her hips and she can’t stop the noises that come from her mouth. She rocks harder against him, pressing her thighs more firmly against the sharp bones of his hips, her fingers clawing at the skin on his chest.

He sits up abruptly and pulls her breast into his mouth just as his thumb finds where they’re joined, rubbing at her roughly. He bites down and she comes almost instantly, squeezing him like a vice, fluttering around him and clenching her eyes shut.

“Oh, god.” She pants. “Oh god, oh god, oh god.”

He grabs her hips and flips them back over, pushing her knee over his arm and thrusting into her hard. She arches as she continues to spasm around him, his cock entering her over and over and _over_ -

“Jesus Christ, I’m –“

She comes again with a loud groan, never fully coming over her first high and his hips stutter and falter, entire body tensing above her. He bites down hard on the swell of her breast and lets out a string of curses, lifting up as his hips press against hers in stilted, jumpy movements. His lips find hers and he swipes his tongue in her mouth with a groan, collapsing against her fully. Their kiss turns into something soft and gentle, and he pulls back with a sigh, withdrawing from her and falling to her side.

“Oh my god.” She wheezes and he chuckles next to her, fingers lacing behind his head as they stare at the ceiling together. Warm, rough fingers twist with her own and he squeezes gently. She turns to regard him and he gives her a wide grin, slowly settling into something soft and serene and _god, she is so screwed._ He fingers a lock of her hair between his thumb and forefinger, pulling it away from her sweaty forehead and tucking it behind her ear.

“Do you want me to stay?” He whispers and his eyes are so blue and honest and open – she knows he’s asking about more than just this one night. He’s talking about _them_ and _this_ and _so much more_. And the usual fear the paralyzes her at this point never comes, the regret not even a thought in her mind as she decides she _wants_ it – wants _him_ – every bit and piece of the boy and the man and the person who would stand by her through _anything_.

She turns on her side and sighs, tugging him towards her by the charms around his neck, ducking her face into him and breathing deep. He relaxes against her, arm flinging over her waist and tucking her body into his.

“I want you to stay.” She whispers.

-/-

(And when his books start showing up on her coffee table (solid wood this time, thank _god_ ) and his lab coat sits next to her blazer on the coat rack in the hall and his shoes find their way to her closet, she hums lightly under her breath, smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

And when his lease is up, she quietly tells him maybe he shouldn’t sign a new one, maybe he should just –

His smile is bright and intoxicating as he crashes his lips against hers, whispering the words _love_ and _brilliant_ and _perfect_ into her mouth.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Epilogue: My baby don’t mess around (Because she loves me so)**

She pushes her head down further into her pillow, muttering under her breath and swatting at the annoying fluttering against her cheek. There’s a low laugh and then she feels the slow drag of a thumb against her bottom lip, gentle and smooth. She shifts and pulls back, turning her head and stilling abruptly when her face sticks against a book. She blinks her heavy eyes open in confusion, frowning when she sees she’s still at the table – law books strewn around her in chaos.

Studying. Right.

Her eyes drift up to Killian standing over her, watching her with a soft smile on his face, black hair in total chaos. He’s still in his scrubs – pale blue that brings out his eyes even more, _the bastard –_ and she sighs happily when his fingers dance along her jaw to her neck. Her eyes close again because she’s tired, so _tired_.

“Bastard.” She mutters because he _knows_ how those scrubs make him look, _knows_ how the nurse aids whisper and lust after him. She brought him lunch _once_ and endured the fiery stare of a flock of women at her back, practically burning her to the ground as he leaned forward and caught her lips with his. There was even one scary intense male nurse with cropped blonde hair staring daggers at her as Killian happily munched away on his chicken salad sandwich – practically vibrating in his apparent distaste for her. She half feared for her life after she left him and walked through the parking lot, expecting a nurse to stab her in the jugular with a needle.

Or scalpel. She knows how crafty those women are.

He chuckles again as she nuzzles further into the table, a soft, surprised sound lodged in his throat. His hands slip under her knees and around her back and she barely has time to protest before he’s lifting her up and away from the table. Her cheek sticks to her book until the very last second (gross) and she groans as he tucks her into his chest, turning and walking them down the hall to their bedroom.

“Is that anyway to greet your boyfriend after he pulled a 48 hour shift without rest?” His voice is rough and gravelly and her fingers slip into the hair at the nape of his neck. Her thumb rubs back and forth gently and she breathes him in, tucking her nose into the warm skin of his neck. He smells like lemons and generic clinical cleaner, but the faint spice of _him_ lingers and she presses a kiss against his collarbone.

“Blue makes you prettier.” She mutters and she wishes she possessed a verbal filter but she is exhausted, law school kicking her ass and making her loopy. He hums lightly against her hair, smile curling his lips as he places her down in the bed and she immediately spreads out, curling onto her side and kicking underneath the covers. His fingers trail down her arm and she reaches for him, trying to tug him down next to her.

“Shower first, love.” He whispers into her ear, pressing a light kiss at the skin beneath. She shivers and her stomach flips - even despite her exhaustion - and she grips his arm harder. “You wouldn’t believe the amount of catheters I placed during my shift.”

She releases him immediately, pushing him lightly towards the bathroom. “Gross.” She mutters and he laughs. Seconds later she hears the water start in the bathroom and his quiet padding across the tile. Consciousness returns to her as she listens to him get ready for bed – the dresser sliding open as he comes out of the bathroom, a warm cloud of steam accompanying him.  

When he finally slides under the blankets next to her she scoots into him, curling herself around his body – his skin warm and soft from the shower. He pulls her closer with an arm around her shoulders and presses a kiss against her temple.

“I don’t like sleeping without you, love.” He says it quietly, reverently, breathing it into her skin with another brush of his lips. She smiles lightly and presses her own against the hollow of his throat, throwing her leg over his and pulling them closer together.

“Me neither.” She replies. They relax into one another, bodies shifting and sliding until she doesn’t know where she ends and he begins. His fingers trail lightly over her arm in a caress and her eyelids flutter, sleep pulling at her tired and exhausted mind like a siren.

Until it doesn’t.

A low moan sounds loud above their heads, practically a screech in the quiet stillness of the apartment. A rhythmic knocking starting seconds later - the _tap tap tap_ of a bedpost knocking against the wall. His body jolts against her – clearly on the verge of sleep – and her eyes slide open to find his brows furrowing in confusion.

Another moan joins the first, the tapping becoming louder and more incessant. Killian scowls and she laughs because, really, this is just poetic.

“Not so peaceful is it?”

He blinks at her as the porno next door increases in fervor and a slow, sinful smirk works its way over his lips. His hand lands on her hip and he pushes her over onto her back, sliding over her and pinning her down with his body. His lips fall to her neck as he ruts lightly against her and she hooks her foot behind his knee, pulling him down further. Heat coils low in her belly because it’s _him_ and it’s _them_ and jesus – he will _always_ affect her in this way.

She moans lightly when he nips at her pulse point, arching into him as his hand finds her breast, thumb stroking purposefully over sensitive skin.

“How about we show them how it’s done, darling?”

She grins into his lips.  


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little drabble in response to a prompt on tumblr, still in the same universe - so epilogue part II?

8 weeks the doctor said. 8  _weeks_. She sighs and presses her hand against her lower abdomen, wondering what the baby looks like – if it’s a little bean, if it has fingers and toes.

_You could ask the medical resident laying on the couch_ her mind supplies but she shuts that thought down, dropping her hands and picking up a dish, scrubbing at it with undo aggression.

14 pregnancy tests and _actual medical confirmation_ later and she _still_ can’t tell him – worried about what his reaction might be, worried he might leave her.

Even after everything, it’s just – _everyone always leaves her_.

It’s still too soon, they haven’t ever discussed marriage – she doesn’t even know if he _wants_ children.

“Emma.” She jumps as his voice floats into the kitchen from the living room and she turns her head slightly, watching as he tosses a book onto the coffee table and leans back, head lolling against his shoulder to make eye contact with her.

“Yes?”

He pauses for a moment and scratches at his ear before smiling softly and her stomach flips because _god_ , he’s just so perfect – the bashful boy all grown up into a handsome man. A man who _loves_ her.

And then he opens his mouth.

“How far along are you?” He questions bluntly and she freezes, mouth dropping to the floor, her entire body going rigid. He huffs and looks offended, adjusting himself so he’s still splayed against the couch, but has a better view of her.

“Please, darling, I went to _medical school_.” He raises both eyebrows at her and continues before she can even _think_ to gather a semblance of thought. “You’ve been getting sick every morning for weeks, you haven’t had a single sip of coffee, and you practically threw the wine glass I offered you across the bloody town limits.”

Her mouth opens and closes. “Wha-“

“Plus, your boobs are massive.” His eyebrows wiggle and he shoots her a wide grin, eyes dropping down below her neck. She follows his gaze and looks down at her chest, frowning when she notes they are exactly the same size they have always been.

“No they aren’t.”

He sighs and lifts himself from the couch, crowding her space until she’s pressed up against the island. “Perhaps I’m just looking forward to what’s to come, then.”

Her frown deepens. “What? My current boobs aren’t good enough for you?”

He rolls his eyes and slides his hands up her torso until he’s firmly cupping both her breasts in his hands, thumbs sliding over her in a gentle loop until she’s panting and arching into his touch. His lifts a single, thick brow at her and she tugs him closer with a leg wrapped around his.

“I think we both know how infatuated I am with your breasts, darling.”

She stares up at him, chest squeezing tight because he’s handling all of this like it’s completely expected – like it’s exactly everything he’s ever wanted.

“So you’re okay with all of this?” Her voice breaks on the word _okay_ and his gaze softens, hand releasing her breast to slide up over her neck and into her hair. He cards his fingers through her strands gently and sighs.

“Absolutely.” He says the word with such open sincerity that her heart blooms in her chest, pressure building quick behind her eyes. A smile cracks his face the longer he looks at her and his thumb drags along her cheekbone. “Your hormones are going to be the devil to deal with, aren’t they?”

She snorts a watery laugh and catches his lips in hers, her happiness crashing over her in tumultuous waves. He is everything – the home she never thought she would have, the _family_ she never got as a child, the best friend she thought she had lost.

“Get used to it, buddy.” She whispers and her voice is thick but she doesn’t care because she is _happy_.

He hums against her lips. “I plan to, darling.”   


End file.
